by VK Fox
Blindness came like a sack over her head. “Oh no. Come on! Five more minutes!” She gritted her teeth and grasped the air for something solid. “Dahl? I can’t see!”
Dahl’s hand closed over hers, his fingers warm and unpleasantly sticky. “It’s okay.” His tone was definitive. “Follow me.”
She staggered and tripped over unseen objects and corners trying to keep the pace. “Are we going to jump?” Jane fought to keep her nerves in check.
Dahl must have either been busy or decided this question warranted no response. In less than a minute, Jane’s foot snagged a beanbag chair. Annoying, but a good sign. They must be back in the rec room.
Dahl’s grip tightened, pressing Jane’s fingers together painfully. As they jerked to a stop, fear leaked through cracks in his calm. “Jane, are you sure the wolf isn’t yours?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know! Why? Is it here?”
A growl so deep it hung on the edge of hearing underscored his urgent whispers. “You don’t feel some kind of affinity or the sudden urge to speak to it in its own tongue or . . . anything?”
“Maybe it smells the blood? Do wolves frenzy?” Acting on instinct, Jane froze on the spot. “Just stay still. It’ll pass us by.”
Dahl hesitated. Jane’s pulse pounded in her ears so loudly, she couldn’t tell if the wolf had stopped growling or if her heartbeat drowned it out. Urgent voices echoed behind them. Every muscle in Dahl’s body tensed.
“I’m trusting you,” he hissed it like an accusation.
He stilled beside her.
Nothing made a sound for several agonizing seconds, and then an unhurried velvet tread met her ears. Soft, warm fur brushed under her fingertips, and a rough, wet tongue touched her hand. Jane let out an involuntary squeak. She hazarded a pat against the beast’s neck, and it leaned into her. “Um . . . hey, pup.” She scratched it affectionately. “How does it look?”
“Sizable.”
“Thanks for the helpful description.” Jane scratched behind its ears. The great beast bounded almost lazily down the hall. The sounds of pursuit changed to cries of alarm, punctuated by playful barking.
A few heartbeats later, cold, misting rain touched her skin, and a gentle breeze raised goosebumps on her arms. Dahl called out, “Hey, Fezzik! No white horses?”
A deep, warm voice responded from somewhere below. “No, but you got the lady.”
Dahl’s voice got softer, and Jane assumed he was speaking to her. “You know how this one goes, right?”
“Oh boy.” She wrung her hands, readying herself for a two-story drop. Blind. Some guy she wasn’t sure about was the only thing between her and an extremely painful rendezvous with the concrete. “Am I getting tossed, or can I jump like Buttercup?”
Dahl laughed, and it sounded reasonably good-natured. “Lady’s choice.”
Jumping was her pick any day of the week. Her feet stuttered, and she lunged at the opening, holding her arms out in an attempt to balance and not smack into anything.
The fall itself was done in an instant. A sensation of the wind rushing by and changing direction ended with a jolt. The landing wasn’t comfortable on her bruised body, but Ian’s strong arms beat the pavement. Seconds later, she was gently deposited on a car seat. Ian’s cheerful, deep voice instructed her to sit tight and try to buckle up.
Jane buckled and held herself, knees pulled up to her chest. This was it. Her sword in the stone, her wardrobe into the woods, the tornado that picked up her house. Those moments were always exciting when comfortably pressed between the pages of a book. Now, soaked and blind in the back seat of a magical stranger’s car, escaping a mental institution where she was being held against her will, comfortable excitement couldn’t cover it. It was electrifying.
Dahl, she assumed, had scrambled into the back seat next to her. He smelled strongly of blood and was breathing hard. The zip and metallic latch of a seat belt clicked as the car doors closed and the engine revved to life. A hand gently touched her shoulder, and Dahl, sounding tired and a little kinder than usual, said, “You did well. Blindness must be frightening. We’ll make sure you are safe.”
The adrenaline dump left her jittery and shaken. “Where are we going?”
Dahl’s voice was wrung-out. “We have a hotel room where we can regroup. It’s a dive, but it’s secure.” With the click of a lighter, the air pressure and sound changed as the window cracked. A second later, the rich smell of tobacco smoke filled the car.
She turned to the window out of habit. “Can I get some more air, please?” Her voice shook slightly.
“Hang on.” Dahl sighed and leaned over her, and the window crank squeaked a few times as a damp night breeze touched her face.
Ian spoke again, “Your name is Jane, right?”
“Yeah.” She breathed deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “Dahl told me you’re the guy to talk to for all the answers?”
Ian’s laugh was so friendly, Jane’s shoulders loosened a tiny bit. “It’s nice to see you again, Jane. I’m sure you want an explanation. We’re here to give you information, but if you’ll allow me a few more hours? These things go better in the light of day, after a good night’s sleep and a full stomach.”
“Can we go by my apartment?”
“That would add risk. Do you need something there?”
“Clothes? My things? I’ll be five minutes, tops, once I can see again. It’s all in boxes already.”
“I know familiar things would be comforting, but the risk is significant. I can’t agree in good conscience. This escape was difficult to accomplish, and I doubt we could duplicate it. I’m sorry.”
“But . . .” Jane hadn’t thought this through. What little she owned, the artifacts of her life, all sat in those three rooms.
“I can go by tomorrow and get your stuff,” Dahl volunteered.
“Let me go with you. It’s in boxes, but I know where everything is. I just want some clothes and a few keepsakes.” She was insistent. “And my books. Please—”
“Tomorrow.” Dahl cut her off. “Pending conversation. Tonight, you’re welcome to borrow some clothes, and the hotel has toothbrushes. I’m sure you can tough it out.” He turned her hand palm up and placed a cigarette in it.
Jane’s fingers closed around it. She held it out for a light and sucked in the smoke.
Ian sounded annoyed. “Tell me you weren’t the one to get her started.”
“Why would I get her started? She’s stealing my cigarettes!”
“One in three, Dahl. One in three,” Ian related in a solemn tone.
“In our line of work, I’m not going to live long enough to die of cancer. Stop being such a baby,” Dahl retorted in a half-hearted, familiar way.
“Tactical smoking was your excuse when I first caught you. To cover your magic.” Ian chuckled, annoyance draining from his voice.
Jane sat quietly for a few minutes, dangling one hand in the wind outside the car, holding her cigarette in the other. After a final drag, she flicked the butt out of the window. Boy, she was tired. Her voice sounded clunky, heavy with fatigue. “So, what’s next? Are we joining forces to fight evil? What do I need to prepare myself for?” Jane savored the surreal quality of what she was saying. Was this her life now?
“Maybe.” Warmth saturated Ian’s deep voice. “Right now, the plan is to go to the hotel, sleep, eat, and have a discussion. Can you agree to talk with us?”
“Sure, I can agree to a conversation. As long as I get my own room and breakfast is included.”
Ian’s chuckle was soft and mirthful. “I think we can manage that.”
Chapter Eight
The world was clean and soft. Jane opened her eyes and found the sun peeking around the edges of heavy blackout curtains. She could see a doorway partially ajar to a bathroom and a second closed door to the hotel hallway. The room was small and mostly empty except for her bed, a bedside table, a lamp, and a television set.
Not a dream. She rolled over to check for a clock—7
:08 a.m. She mentally replayed the ride to the hotel and the covert entry process. She and Dahl had waited in the car while Ian had checked to see if the coast was clear and ushered them through the side entrance. Dahl had moved his things into Ian’s room, and she had collapsed into bed, bone-tired and drinking in the wonderfulness of being alone and comfortable.
Jane sat up, turned on the light, and checked herself. Her shoulder was sore, possibly dislocated, but no worse than yesterday. No trace of a puncture wound. Weird. She lifted the sheets and examined her hip and thigh. The massive bruise’s deep eggplant color looked worse than it felt due to an odd numbness hanging around the area. Her skinned knuckles were scratchy and uncomfortable. She had too many little cuts and bruises to count. She sighed and rolled out of bed, searching for a coffee machine. In minutes, percolating sounds and the comforting scent of coffee filled the room. Jane turned on the television and surfed until she found a local news station.
A two-minute segment covered the power outage at Solace Mental Health Center that had resulted in minor injuries, damage to the building, and missing patients. Cameras captured the hole in the side of the building, which the newscaster reported had been accomplished with improvised explosives, but the bit contained no details on either her or Dahl. A rush of relief swept through her: no serious injuries reported, and her picture wasn’t plastered all over the screen. Her mom was probably threatening to sue them for losing her. The story segued into a local flavor piece about wolf sightings in the area. Her friend was getting noticed.
Jane showered and dressed in clothing she found on the bedside table: a black T-shirt and jeans, both several sizes too roomy, but a belt had been provided, so she could make it work. Soap covered the bathroom mirror, making it impossible to check her reflection. Even without it, Jane noted the bloodstains on her bra all over the left side, but she didn’t have a change of underwear. Jane stripped off both and put them in a sink of cold water. Maybe she could use the complimentary soap to scrub them later when the blood came out. No one would notice her commando status in baggy clothing. Donning the borrowed outfit, she went next door to the boys’ room and knocked.
Ian answered the door, smiling, and stepped into the hallway. Jane was again struck by the impression of shadowy antlers, forking tines towering over his already massive form. After half a second, normalcy returned. Watery sunlight barely evicted darkness, but he had the energy of someone who had been awake for some time and wasn’t the curator of a raging caffeine addiction. Bright eyes, alert features, coordinated movements: so something was weird about the guy, even omitting the previous Elmo incident. “Good morning, Jane! How about breakfast?”
“Um . . . sure.” She raised an eyebrow and willed herself to relax.
“You must have a lot of questions. Shall we go downstairs to talk? Or did you want to see Dahl?”
“Downstairs is good. Unless we’re secretive or something.”
“We don’t need to worry about it. There’s no one in the know here.” He ran a hand through his short curls and gestured. “The elevator’s this way.”
She eyed him while they strolled down the hallway. Although he could palm a milk jug, he stepped lightly, gracefully. Jane noted his gauged ears with half-inch blue lapis plugs. What was his story? Was he also adopted by a secret organization, the result of an ancient ritual? What was his day-to-day like? Did he spend his waking hours meditating and training for combat, or did he have hobbies and a girlfriend and time for picking out earrings?
“So, Ian . . . Elmo?” She pressed the elevator call button.
Ian laughed self-consciously and rubbed the back of his neck. “The Elmo thing kind of got away from me. You’re after the story, I assume?”
“Do you collect Muppets?”
“No. I hadn’t seen one of those dolls before. It was cute, so I picked it up for a closer look. It started talking, and I didn’t want it making so much noise. I was searching for the off switch, and when I couldn’t find it, I figured I could follow its instructions and make it stop after I completed whatever its actions were. Then you came along, and I was trying to talk to you and make it not talk at the same time. I got distracted. I didn’t realize I still had it until I got back to my car.” The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.
“You stole it.” Jane raised her eyebrows in an exaggerated way. “You shoplifted from my work.”
“I understand if you want me to take the stairs.” He chuckled. His thin upper lip quirked into a smile.
Jane grinned back. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”
Ian stepped in, ducking a little, and pushed the lobby button. “Dahl found the whole incident amusing. He’s keeping the toy. He says it’s because he likes it, but I’m sure it’s to remind me of my awkwardness. I know I startled you. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, everything has been mixed up for me lately.” Jane fiddled with the end of the belt. “It’s hard to feel like I have a grasp on what’s going on at any given moment.”
“I’m sure it is, and we really are here to help. I don’t know how to do this. We don’t generally do outreach. We’re kind of winging it. But I want to start by saying you’re special.” The way Ian stated it, full of resonate warmth, let Jane pause and absorb the compliment. “It’s hard for you to see with all you’ve gone through, but you must be an incredible person to connect with saints, of all people. Wild talents are so rare.” Ian shuffled his feet and kept talking, low and a little faster. “I mean, to put it in perspective, I was trained from infancy for fifteen years before I was given any words of power. Dahl only trained for six years, and that’s unheard of. Special circumstances. Wild connections with no formal preparation are the stuff of rumors. I didn’t expect this to be the real thing.”
“What are you talking about? You trained for . . . what, exactly?” The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the lobby. “Finding people like me?”
Ian laughed. “No, I don’t have training in that area. It’s not a good match for my skill set.” He stepped out of the elevator and held the door. “We were dispatched to the area because we were the closest appropriate team, and time is a concern.”
Jane stepped through and followed the scent of Danish pastries to the conference room. “So, I’m wild? Kinda cool, I guess. How much do you know about me? You thought I was old, or older, or something?”
“We know mostly what you’ve told us. I pictured you older. I guess I was . . .” He drew his brows together, creasing a little wrinkle between them. “I had a dream where you were older, but it must have been a metaphor. Funny, I don’t usually get those details wrong.”
“You had a dream about me? Is that . . . normal?” She poured herself a bowl of Froot Loops, Ian grabbed soy milk and heaped a plate with hash browns, and they sat at a table for two. “But, I mean, how did you find where I worked?”
“You left your work shirt in the back of your car.”
Jane rolled her eyes. Everyone saw her fucking work shirt. She imagined a line of interested parties at her car in the cornfield.
Ian continued without further comment. “And dreaming is one of my talents. What about you? You can heal sickness, injury, and cause electrical outages?”
“The outage happened when I was desperate for a way out, but I don’t know if I made it happen. I can also make some kind of explosion go off, and a wolf follows me around and seems to think I’m all right.”
Ian’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly. “Wow. Quite a variety of skills. And you go blind after using your powers?”
Jane sat a little straighter. Damn right, she was impressive. If she was a freak, she was an exceptional freak. “I also bleed from puncture wounds.” She related in a nonchalant tone. “But the injury seems to be gone this morning.”
“Interesting. Yes, phantom wounds like the ones you’re describing disappear quickly, like your blindness. You can bleed to death from them, though, so proceed with caution.” Ian’s gaze strayed over her bruised arms, stiff shoulder, and co
llection of visible small cuts and scabs. “Why have you not healed yourself of your other injuries?”
His eyes were taking her in. A prickly heat crept along her cheeks. Jane poked at an escaped Froot Loop on the table. “I can’t. It doesn’t work.”
To her surprise, a little color crept into Ian’s dark skin as well, but he didn’t drop his gaze. “You moved here recently, correct? Family or friends you wanted to be near?”
“No. I planned to be here for a little while, but life got screwed up. I was going to try and move again before I became a resident of Solace Mental Health Center. My family committed me, and I don’t have friends anymore.” Jane swallowed hard and stared down at her bowl. Rainbow-colored rings floating in sugar-infused milk grew blurry.
Ian’s tone was tender. “I’m sure this is hard. It’s not going to happen over breakfast, but we can show you how to manage these things in your life. Everyone has a rough time at first. I lost a year after I formed my link. I can’t even remember most of it. I forgot how to talk, how to reason—my mind had to relearn. And Dahl . . .” His face fell for a second. “Look, we know what you’re going through. The details are different, but we have a lot of empathy here.”
For a second, his eyes flitted to her hand, laying on the table, and then he shook himself a little and met her eyes again, dimples appearing as he smiled reassuringly.
She picked at her food for a moment. “Can we go by my apartment so I can get some things?”
“Dahl will go. People take less notice of him. We’ll have to check it out first, though. It may be watched. He’s still sleeping. Is there any urgency?”
“I want to get there before the cops, or whoever, do. I’d like to have at least a bag together for whatever is going to happen next, you know? The book is there too.”
Ian’s eyes kept skipping back and forth from Jane to a spot behind her. “Your apartment—what was the name of the street?”
“Corner of East Adams and Locust. Number 105.” Jane threw a glance over her shoulder.
A muted television hung in the corner of the room, running a twenty-four-hour news station. Cameras were currently panning around a roaring blaze, capturing the heroic efforts of a team of firefighters battling an apartment inferno. Jane’s apartment inferno. The news ticker at the bottom of the screen read, “Bomb threat: not a hoax. Residents rush to evacuate moments ahead of explosion.”